10 Things Emma Swan Never Had (and now she does)
by effulgentcolors
Summary: The title pretty much says it all. I'm planning 10 of those, all Emma centric.
1. A Piggyback Ride

Emma came to a stop as she saw Killian leaning against the wall next to the entrance of the station. She furrowed her brows in confusion. He had told her that he'd grab a beer with David and she had expected to see him back at the loft when she got home.

In the next moment Killian looked up and gave her a little smile, pushing away from the wall leisurely. The movement was so casual and _normal _that it suddenly hit her. He had come to pick her up.

_Emma put her things in her little yellow backpack as slowly as possible. Her shabby brown textbook, the cheap plastic pen._

"_Could you hurry up, Miss Swan?" came the obviously irritated voice of the teacher standing at the door and waiting to lock up._

_Emma's full lips twitched downwards and she dipped her head slightly so that her blonde hair fell over her shoulder and hid her little pale face. She weighed her options for a few seconds before deciding that the last thing she needed was for Mrs Greene to be mad at her. Swinging her backpack over her bony shoulder she walked quickly out of the room and marched down the empty hall with as much confidence as she could muster. _

_She kept her steady pace until she came outside, stopping on top of the school's steps. The school yard was an intense shade of green under the bright sunshine. It was full of kids running after their siblings, tugging on their mothers' arms and begging for ice-cream or using their fathers' broad shoulders for a piggyback ride. It all reminded her of a hive. Noisy and chaotic and alien to anyone on the outside. And she was always on the outside. There was never anyone waiting for her at the bottom of those steps, no one she could throw her arms around, no one she could babble about her day to. _

_Emma bowed her head, blocking out the world. She guessed it was logical. She wasn't going home hence there was no one here to pick her up. There was no home. There was no one. She made her way through the yard, trying to avoid the hive so that she didn't get stung._

"Are you alright, luv?"

Killian's concerned voice brought Emma back to the present. She shook her head and tried to blink back the moisture that had gathered in her eyes when she realized that he was now standing right in front of her, a confused frown marring his gorgeous features.

"Yeah," she said, clearing her throat and giving him a hesitant but genuine smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Yeah?" he looked at her in that way, the one that let her know that he was probably reading every thought that was going through her head right now.

She stared back. She wanted him to know. She just didn't want to be the one to tell him. It felt stupid, childish, to get so emotional over the fact that he had waited outside for her to finish work. It _was_ stupid. But that didn't make her feel any less warm inside.

The pirate pursed his lips, as if contemplating whether or not to keep pursuing the issue, but in the end he settled for coming to stand next to her and offering her his arm.

"Ready to go _home_?" he asked, putting just enough emphasis on the word to let her know that he realized the weight it carried for her. And that he felt the exact same way.

Emma felt the butterflies in her stomach twirl around in pure exhilaration. She had always preferred them to bees.

"Can I get a piggyback ride?" she asked, her voice holding just a hint of hesitation, overshadowed by the barely restrained giddiness, and her lips twitching upwards.

The man beside her lifted an amused eyebrow, cheerfulness and absolute adoration lighting up his blue eyes, before he stepped in front of her. Turning his head around, he grinned at her.

"Giddyup, princess!"


	2. Forgiveness for the Damaged

"FUCK!"

Emma shoved the pan in her hands away. A piece of burnt bacon flew out and landed on the stove, letting out a sizzling sound and making a_ wonderful_ greasy mess. Just like her whole bloody day!

First, she had overslept, waking up with a sore throat and without Killian next to her. She had dragged herself out of bed, found out that she had almost no clean shirts left, scalded herself trying to drink her coffee as quickly as possible and left the apartment in a huff, slamming the door behind her. Now, rationally, she knew that she should be grateful her pirate had woken up, made Henry a sandwich and sent him off to school on time. But she had decided that waking up without him in bed was what had started this whole nightmare so instead of being grateful she had decided to be mad. Which, of course, she had then proceeded to feel guilty about through the whole day.

The phone at the station had kept ringing and people had kept asking her about everything and anything that was definitely _not_ in the range of her responsibilities. She had been called 'princess' twice! She now had a coffee stain on her last clean shirt, meaning she no longer had any clean shirts whatsoever and was cooking in a t-shirt she hated.

Cooking. That was one way to put her disastrous attempts to throw some sort of dinner together for her and Killian since, of _bloody_ course, Regina had called today of all days and asked for Henry to spend the night at her place.

Overall, Emma Swan was not in a good mood. And the burnt remains of the bacon, which had been the last thing they had in the fridge because why the HELL would anyone bother to go to the store, were the very last straw.

She supposed most people in her place would just let the tears of frustration out. She, however, let out only a string of profanities that even Killian seemed impressed by as he came in through the door.

"Why, Swan, I'm a sailor and you almost had me blushing with that last one," he chuckled.

The son of a bitch _chuckled_.

Emma clenched her fist, literally throwing the still hot pan in the sink, ruined food and everything. He was late and he was a _bloody_ bastard and he had taught her to use that word way too often and he was _here _so she was gonna take it all out on him. She turned around sharply, ready to let him have it.

Her arm made contact with something and in the next moment Emma heard the sound of glass shattering. Looking down, she saw the odd mix of sand and glass that now littered the kitchen floor. It took her a moment but then she recognized the beautifully engraved marble parts that glistened mournfully among the mess. She had broken one of the few things Killian had bothered to bring from his ship. She watched the shattered sand clock in desperation for a whole ridiculous minute in which, against the laws of any sort of logic, she waited for it to put itself back together and make her feel like she hadn't just destroyed something that was certainly ten times as old and probably ten times as precious as her.

"Oh god," her hand flew to her mouth, eyes widening in horror and in the next second flying up to Killian.

He too had been surveying the mess at her feet and took a step forward when he finally felt her gaze on him.

Emma drew back. It was the most unconscious action she had ever performed in her life. She wasn't scared of him. The thought that she couldn't handle someone never crossed her mind. The thought that _he_ would try to hurt her never crossed her mind. She was a grown-up woman. A strong one at that. And this was possibly, probably, the person who loved her most in the world. But that move, the flinch and step back, was pre-programmed, engraved in her psyche oh-so-long ago.

_Her little hands scrambled to undo the damage that her mind had already predicted. Her tiny body lurched forward with all the energy it possessed. But she didn't move deftly enough. She wasn't quick enough. She wasn't enough…_

_The porcelain shattered on the tiled floor with a sound that embedded itself inside Emma's heart, which was beating so wildly that, fortunately, or not, she couldn't decide, it was drowning out her chaotic thoughts._

_Carried by the momentum of her movements she dropped to her knees next to the mess she had made, feeling a piece of the broken vase cut into her left knee. It went deep and warm blood gushed out of the wound. But it all felt so cold to Emma. Her hands. The floor. The look of the woman that had just walked in. Her words._

"_Ow! You little-" the woman stepped forward, careful with the broken vase but grabbing Emma roughly by the arm and dragging her up._

_The blonde girl opened her mouth to explain but the woman swatted her over the head, forcing her to draw back in surprise. Tears of pain and guilt were now mixing with tears of fear._

"_What did you do?!" demanded the large woman looming in front of her. "Do you know how much that thing costs?!"_

_Emma shook her head helplessly. She didn't. And she wanted to say that she would fix it or pay for it so badly. But she couldn't._

"_More than you, that's for sure!" went on her tormentor, getting more and more worked up as she surveyed the disaster. "It was brought all the way from India! And it is worth more money than you would ever see in one place."_

_The woman crouched down to collect the pieces, her face red with anger and the need to take it out on somebody._

"_Someone wanted this very much, can't say the same about you," she hissed, with that sick sort of satisfaction that people feel when they manage to spew their hate out into the world so that it's no longer poisoning them. _

_Or so they believe._

_Emma bit on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood from there too. She bore her punishment with no hopes of forgiveness. With no hopes at all really._

_There were many things orphans never received. Forgiveness was on top of the list and she was old enough to know that by now. There was something defective about her as it was, she didn't need to make it more so by doing things like that. People didn't want her anyway, how was being a nuisance going to help her case? She was damaged anyway. Need she damage the world around her too?_

Emma's breaths came out short, quick and irregular.

It wasn't that her alarm hadn't gone off. It wasn't that Killian hadn't been there. It wasn't that her coffee had been too hot and her laundry not done. It wasn't that people called to bother her with all sorts of bullshit. It wasn't that her stove was too hot and her bacon too easy to burn. It wasn't that the sand clock was too breakable.

It was her.

She had always been told that it was her. Her day was a mess because she was a mess.

She looked at the sand littering the floor through misty eyes. Damage bred damage.

Then Killian's boots suddenly came into her view, stepping on the broken remains, which crunched beneath his weight. Her hand twitched by her side, wanting to make him step back so he didn't do any more damage. But it really couldn't get much worse.

His hand rough hand gently cupped her chin. Slowly he made her meet his concerned gaze.

"Emma?" he enquired quietly, his voice sounding lost.

Emma pulled back but didn't completely break contact.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes still wide and scared of something that didn't belong to this moment, this apartment or the woman she was, yet remained there all the same. "Killian, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Emma, it's alright," the brunette's brows were furrowed with confusion. "It's just an object."

She shook her head.

"I'm sorry. You brought it here and it was beautiful and precious and old-"

He cut her off with a peck on the lips. The kiss lasted less than a second, yet it silenced the exhausted woman, making her lids drop.

She couldn't be so defective if someone could kiss her so softly, right?

"It's alright."

He kissed her left cheek.

It was. He wanted to hold her hand even when it wrecked havoc.

"You are here."

He kissed her right cheek.

She was. She had made it here after everything, into the arms of someone who didn't see her as something too bent to love.

"_You_ are beautiful."

He kissed her nose.

Was she? She was in his eyes and they were the only mirror that mattered.

"_You_ are precious."

He kissed her temple and gave a soft laugh.

"I wouldn't dare say you are old, especially considering my own age."

Emma let out a choked laugh and opened her eyes.

If someone so wonderful could love you… did that make you wonderful too? At least for a little bit? At least while you were in the circle of their arms? Held together by the sheer power of their love?

Tears of surprise and gratitude were not mixing with tears of awe.

"I'm gonna replace it," she said, not quite sure how she would accomplish that but feeling more powerful just because of the ability to say the words.

"No need. As I said, it's just an object."

"Just because it's damaged doesn't mean it can't be fixed," she said, an eerie quality to her voice.

Killian pulled back, studying her features.

"Not everything needs to be fixed," he said after a moment, causing her heart to do something funny in her chest. "Some things are beautiful because they are damaged."


	3. Her Mug

Emma rubbed her hands down her arms, trying to chase away the chill that the racing wind sent through her. The ship creaking beneath her feet and the smells of wood and sea mingling together managed to erase the frown from her face. Even when coldness seeped into her bones the smells and sounds of the Jolly Roger always managed to put her at ease. And really this had all been her idea.

Killian had all but moved into her apartment but he still couldn't go more than a couple of days without visiting his other girl. She would never admit it out loud but at first Emma had felt a hint of jealousy. Yes, that's correct, Emma Swan had been jealous of a ship. Then she had taken a day off work that had changed all that. Killian had spent the whole day with her and Henry until they had to leave the kid over at Regina's. It was on their way home that the pirate had stopped suddenly, rocking on his heels lightly and scratching his ear in that self-conscious way she found so damn adorable. He had looked almost guilty when he asked her if she wanted to swing by the docks with him. And at the same time his eyes had looked so hopeful. Something had clicked in Emma's mind. He didn't want to spend quality time with the Jolly. He wanted to spend quality time with _her_ on the Jolly. They had spent the night on the ship and three days later when Killian had said that he was going to the docks Emma had waited an hour, swung by Granny's for a thermos of hot chocolate and welcomed herself aboard too.

Killian's smile had been so bright that she couldn't resist turning their joined visits to the ship into a tradition.

Emma didn't realize that she had reached the Captain's quarters until the door groaned slightly under her hand and her eyes found a pair of tantalizing blue ones upon entering.

"You're early, lass," he said, his appreciation of that fact evident in his voice.

It was true. She had been bored to tears at the station and had finally decided that it was Friday night and she could leave an hour early without feeling like the worst sheriff in Maine.

"Yeah, and my ass is freezing out here so feel free to start warming me up anytime."

His eyebrows shot up, a devilish smirk, that she really had to declare illegal, stretching his lips.

Emma pushed down the laugh bubbling in her throat and rolled her eyes.

"With cocoa, pirate," she said, allowing her lips to twitch upwards slightly. "For now."

At that the captain moved with what she could only label 'pirate speed', stealing a quick kiss from her cool lips. However, before she could even start reciprocating, he was off, rummaging in a cupboard for a couple of mugs, the thermos of hot chocolate already resting on his desk beside a deliciously old volume. Who knew that it would take Captain Hook to awake the book worm in Emma Swan. There was just something absolutely magical about reading fairytales that fairytale characters had written and read. Well, she supposed there were a lot of magical things in Storybrooke as a whole but those moments below the deck of the Jolly Roger with Killian's accented voice reading to her tales of princesses and pirates written by fairies and benevolent godmothers while she clutched a mug of liquid heaven… those moments had a charm all of their own.

"Bloody Hell!"

The pirate's angry outburst drew Emma out of her thoughts and made her frown down at him.

"Killian, what are you doing?"

"I can't find your blasted mug, lass. Give me a second."

Emma eyed the three cups he had already placed on top of his desk, obviously to get them out of his way, and opened her mouth to question him again when his words suddenly registered in her brain. He was looking for _her_ mug.

Oh.

_The house wasn't too big and that was probably why it was always so warm. When she had first walked in Emma had let that warmth seep in and tried to let it pull her in and make her feel at home. Yet she had always felt something eerie in the quietness that ruled over all the rooms, a warmth on the outside but a weird coldness in the pit of her stomach. It was somehow unnatural for a house that had two kids, beside herself, to be so… still. It unnerved her from the start but the girl just shook her head and told herself to stop being stupid and just be grateful she had a roof over her head. And to try to keep it this time._

_She had been in the kitchen, helping Maria, who she never even thought of calling 'mom', get some biscuits on the pretty violet plate on the counter and some tea in the cups next to it. _

_Emma smiled at the chocolate and vanilla treats she had arranged in the shape of a flower and reached over for a bright yellow mug. _

"_Hey, that's my cup!" Kate's indignant voice made Emma freeze before her fingers had even made contact with the pretty porcelain. _

_The blonde snatched her hand back as if burnt. Kate had been here long before her. _She _had no problem calling Maria 'mom'._

"_I'm sorry," she muttered beneath her breath, eyeing the rest of the options with mistrust, she wasn't sure which ones she had the right to touch anymore._

"_Here everyone has their own cup, Emma," explained Maria without looking at her, keeping her attention on the dishes. "Like a toothbrush. Nobody else uses it but you."_

"_Oh," Emma glanced at the cups before her again, this time with longing. "Can I… Can I have one?"_

_At last Maria turned to look at her, the slight confusion on her face lasting just a second before she replaced it with what Emma thought was a smile that must be hurting her face._

"_But, of course, sweetie," she said cheerfully, pointing to a green cup with something grey that probably should have resembled a dragon painted on it. "This is Mike's but you can choose whichever one you want from the rest?"_

_The blonde studied the cups with great attention, biting her lower lip while contemplating her choice as if it was the most important one she had to make in her life._

_Maria cleared her throat after a few minutes. The slightest trace of annoyance evident on her features. Emma felt her heart squeeze and quickly pointed to another green cup with a white handle. She regretted her decision almost immediately. The cup looked too… ordinary. Like something that would be broken sooner than expected. But she didn't dare say anything, shaking her little head and smiling at the thought that she even had her own cup._

_It was two weeks later when Emma came down the stairs to see a social worker sitting on a chair opposite Maria. The woman had short red hair and she was drinking from Emma's green cup. The moment she looked up the girl just knew. She should have known from the moment she walked through the door, should be used to it by now. But she wasn't. Without thinking she marched towards the table._

"_That's my cup! Why are you letting her drink from MY cup?!"_

_There were yells and her name spoken in harsh tones and her little hand being tugged away with frightening force. And Emma had been right. The cup had never been meant for a long existence. Soon it was just a handful of green pieces scattered over a brown carpet, like leaves sensing the winter's approach and falling submissively to the ground._

"Aha!"

Killian's triumphant yell snapped Emma back to the present. She realized that she had sat in one of the chairs next to his desk, which she was gripping tightly.

"Here you go, luv."

Emma's eyes were glued to the streaming mug that he was handling her. It was a dirty sort of yellow, almost golden. Its rim was a crimson colour and there were streaks in the same shade on its handle. The colours were so warm, they looked like they were sliding over the porcelain like honey.

"Swan?" Killian gazed down at her with undisguised worry.

The sheriff's eyes followed his hand as it laid her mug, _her_ mug, down and he kneeled before her. His hand found her knee, starting to rub slow circles on it, and finally drawing her gaze to him. He inclined his head to the side as if trying to read her and the lines on his brow became even more pronounced. Emma instinctively reached out to smooth them out.

"What's wrong, lass?"

Her right hand slid down, cupping his cheek and her left reached over, grasping the golden mug, her fingers shaking slightly. She caressed Killian's stubble absentmindedly while feeling the small imperfections over the mug's otherwise perfectly smooth surface. There were five of them, they were like the smallest pebbles, trapped below the honey that had been spilled over the suddenly precious object, and she liked to think that if she connected them they would form a star.

"Emma?" Killian prompted her again, making her eyes focus and come to rest on the scar on his face.

_The most beautiful things are made even more beautiful by their imperfections._

Damn, she was cheesy.

But her eyes were kinda full, her head was buzzing, Killian's gentle touch was gradually calming down her racing heart, her fingers were still trembling over the porcelain in her hand and there was a warmth deep inside her that was chasing away all the coldness from the vicious wind outside. She could see his silver mug out of the corner of her eye, resting next to the modern thermos that looked so out of place in his cabin. Their cabin?

Emma's eyes crinkled up, her lips stretching in a shaky, genuine smile.

"I'm alright," she whispered and then cleared her throat and tried to blink away the moisture in her eyes. "I'm glad you found my mug."

Killian furrowed his eyebrows again, this time in wonder rather than worry.

"Stop doing that!" Emma laughed softly, smoothing out his skin before she let go and, grabbing both of their mugs, made her way to his bed. "Grab that book and come join me, pirate."

Killian shook his head and got to his feet, giving her one of those adoring looks that let her know that some parts of her were still a mystery to him and he loved unrevealing them one by one.

"Come on, the chocolate is getting cold."

But it wasn't really. The mugs keeping the warmth inside with their own unique brand of magic.


	4. Smell of Home

Emma was pretty damn sure that she hadn't been this exhausted since her last magic showdown but she took the steps two at a time anyway. She was supposed to be home two hours ago but instead she had been out looking into a 'burglary' which had turned out to be the shop owner forgetting to lock up. And why _actually_ check whether or not something was missing when you could make the sheriff drive all the way and look for 'clues or something' for an hour and a half before realizing that nobody had stolen a bloody thing and you were the one who had left the place open!

She made a mental note to thank David for all the help at the station because this one week he had taken off work was shaping up to be the longest one in her short carrier as a sheriff.

Finally reaching the door to the apartment, Emma let out a sigh of relief, grabbing the doorknob impatiently. The second she walked in her senses were assaulted by the tantalizing smell of melted cheese and heavily spiced tomato sauce, making her draw back in surprise before her eyes landed on Killian, who was leaning over Henry's shoulder and studying what appeared to be his maths homework. A part of her took a moment to mentally fist pump the air because she seriously hated trying to make sense of the multitude of charts and calculations in his notebook and because, frankly, Killian's 300+ years of navigation and God knows what else needed to captain a ship made him a much better option, if Henry wanted to pick up his grades on that particular subject.

The larger part of her though was still frozen in the doorway, feeling as if the chilly air outside was trying to nudge her forward and the enthralling smells were trying to draw her in.

Killian finally looked up.

"It's about bloody time, lass," he grinned at her. "Imagine how late you are that the lad has actually finished his homework and I have managed to produce something from among your electrical appliances that may actually be edible."

_Emma felt coldness seeping into her back as the wall's stone surface dug into her bony shoulder. She continued leaning against it anyway. Her eyes were closed, trying to block out the nearly deserted street and her head was swimming with scenes she had never actually seen play out. She inhaled deeply once again, filling her lungs with the chilly air and her nose with the wonderful smell coming from the window above her._

_It wasn't that she didn't have anything to eat. The money in her back pocket would soon enough go into the hands of the guy selling hotdogs on the opposite side of the street. And she knew that they probably tasted about as good as that hotdog will. Because it wasn't the food she craved._

_Her attentive ears picked up the tinkering of pots as she took another deep breath and her imagination went to work again._

_The hard wall was replaced by a soft mattress. She was lying on her back with her feet in the air, her toes drawing nonsensical shapes on the wall as she turned the page of her history course book. No. She was flipping through an album of photos. Or, better yet, a magazine, trying to choose her prom dress and wondering if she could get away with going a little over the limit her father had set._

_There was the barely audible click of glasses against each other as her mom tried to carry all three at the same time while setting the table. The smell of cooked meat slightly overpowered that of the vegetables and crawled inside through her slightly open door._

"_Dinner's ready!"_

_Emma's eyes snapped open. Her face was a mask of carefully controlled frustration and resignation. This was when the daydream always ended. For some reason the woman's voice was all wrong and it shattered her little make-belief world into pieces. She blinked slowly but the pieces couldn't be put together because new voices had joined in and they were all wrong and Emma's eyes were beginning to sting so she took the crumbled bills out of her pocket and made for the hotdog stand._

"Mom?" Henry's face swam in her view as he stood up and went to wash his hands. "Are you alright? How was work?"

She just stood there for a few seconds, making some sort of affirmative noise and trying to collect herself. She jumped slightly when she felt Killian guiding her through the process of taking off her jacket and nudging her towards the table with a warm hand on her lower back. She heard him kick the door shut behind them, effectively blocking out the cold. Her hands took hold of the chair he had pulled out for her, leaning on it for support as she watched Henry fill three glasses with orange juice and listened to Killian pulling out dishes from the cupboard.

"Sorry, luv," the captain's voice floated from the kitchen. "I'm afraid I haven't mastered anything from your realm more complicated than spaghetti just yet. And Henry wasn't much help."

"Hey," immediately came the indignant reply from the dark-haired boy. "I was doing homework!"

"That you were, lad. I think there's still hope for your geometry skills which is more than I can say for your mum's," Killian stopped in front of the table, putting down the dishes and the glass pan overflowing with spaghetti, and grinning at her before he noticed her unfocused gaze. "Emma?"

"Is it ready?" she asked, her voice sounding strange to her own years, her stomached coiled so tightly as if it was readying itself for flight, waiting with trepidation.

"Umm… I believe so?" Killian frowned down at the food, obviously uncertain of his abilities to operate a stove.

"No, just…" Emma bit her lower lip, a hint of a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "Say it."

The boys exchanged a look, both confused and yet obviously unwilling to deny her or judge her strange mood.

"The food's ready? Dinner's ready," said Killian, watching her carefully and trying to guess what was expected of him.

Even hesitant as it was his voice was _just_ right.

The captain's shoulders relaxed and relief washed over his face as Emma finally looked up, a brilliant smile lighting up her features.


End file.
